


Convalescence

by DevineMandate



Series: The Three C's [2]
Category: Cormoran Strike Series - Robert Galbraith
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-28
Updated: 2021-03-10
Packaged: 2021-03-12 03:20:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 4,906
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29753274
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DevineMandate/pseuds/DevineMandate
Summary: After Robin is assaulted by Charlotte, things get a little more complicated for our two favorite people.
Relationships: Robin Ellacott/Cormoran Strike
Series: The Three C's [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2186751
Comments: 44
Kudos: 52





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Spoilers everywhere!

When Robin was ensconced in the ambulance--the paramedics satisfied she was in no immediate danger--Robin called Strike, whom she knew was on overnight surveillance this evening.

_This should be interesting…_

Strike answered on the second ring, and his jovial tone made Robin wince. “Evening, Ellacott! Everything all right? Food as good as you’d hoped?”

Robin said nothing for a moment, hating that she had to tell him and ruin his mood, but the press might have it soon. Then she said: “No, I’m afraid not, Cormoran. I mean, the food was good, but everything is most definitely not all right.”

“Shit,” said Strike, “what happened? Can I help?”

“Cormoran, I need you not to get too upset. I know you’re going to be angry, but please try to stay calm.”

“Fuck, Robin, don’t do that to me, what happened?”

Robin took a breath, and before she said anything, she felt unexpected, traitorous tears in the corners of her eyes.

_Swallow it, Robin, don’t make this harder for him._

“Charlotte was at the restaurant too.”

She heard Strike’s breathing get a little heavier.

“We ran into each other in the loo. She recognized me. We had words.”

“Shit,” Strike said again. “That can’t have been very nice. Was she vicious?”

“Yes, but Cormoran, it’s so much worse than that. She...I was weak and I insulted her, and she...she punched me. In the face.”

Now it sounded like Strike’s breath had stopped.

“We...we fought. Er, viciously.”

“Oh fucking Christ.” She could envision with perfect clarity the pained expression on Strike’s face, his eyes closed, his back against the seat, his head reared back and pressing into the headrest. “Robin, I’m so fucking sorry, what happened in the end?”

“I knocked her cold,” said Robin, wishing she could say it with bravado and not tremulously, as she spoke now, “but not before she got some good knocks in. We’re both headed to hospital now and I’m pretty sure we're both concussed. Between my jaw, my mouth, and my temple, I don’t think I’m going to be doing any surveillance much in the near future, so please tell Pat to update the rota.”

“FUCK THE ROTA!” screamed Strike, and his voice bounced off of every surface in the car where he sat and back into Robin’s ear. “JESUS FUCKING CHRIST!”

“Cormoran, please,” said Robin, the threat of tears now in her throat as well as her eyes, “I told you, I need you to be calm. I’m so…” Her breathing started to quicken, and she closed her eyes and worked to calm herself and not panic or hyperventilate. “I’m really vulnerable right now, and I need you to listen to me and be strong and keep me grounded.”

“Fuck!” Strike shouted once more, but then she heard him trying to settle himself down, growls and breathing decreasing in intensity. “Which hospital?”

She told him the name. “I don’t want you visiting now, though.”

“Bollocks, Robin. You were at Jack’s bedside; I want to be at yours.”

“No, everyone’s engaged tonight, Barclay’s visiting home, there’s no way we’ll get a contractor out there tonight to look after Two-Times’s girl, and he is our most dependable customer...and I’ll be alright, really. Asking you as your partner and friend to please not come tonight. It would be...dereliction of duty,” she said, smiling just a little at the military language she hoped would convince him. She heard him give a sort of sighing grunt on the other end--she could hear in that grunt that he’d seen her logic as valid but was not pleased at his inability to take action. “But...please come see me tomorrow after you’ve gotten some rest. I really want you to be there. Let me get through the initial examinations and the statement to the police and get some rest, and then maybe tomorrow afternoon...”

“Tomorrow morning,” said Strike firmly. “If you’re asleep, I’ll be there when you wake.”

Robin rolled her eyes, but also felt an enormous wave of gratitude buoying her spirits higher. He could lift her up so much, when he wanted to.

“All right, tomorrow morning, then.”

“Good. Now, what’s the situation with the police? Trouble there?”

Robin explained the presence of the helpful, overexcited stranger in the loo, who would be interviewed by the police this evening.

“Thank fuck for that,” said Strike. “A fan, eh?” There was finally a trace of humour in his voice again. “We’ll have to autograph a deerstalker for her or something.”

Robin laughed. “I’ll text you when I’m settling down...presuming the doctor says I’m okay to sleep.”

“All right. I’m so fucking sorry, I know I’ve said it already, I just...well. You’ll have to tell me more details of what happened. When you’re ready for that, of course. I’ll let you relive it just the one time for the police for now.”

“Thank you. See you tomorrow.”

“Don't forget to text me!”

She shook her head as she rang off, smiling and sighing quietly, and texted Max to let him know the situation and request a few essentials.

********

Robin’s concussion was mild, and though she would need observation overnight, no severe consequences were predicted for her long-term health; she updated Strike by text as she learned more about her condition.

She was able to maintain a clinical tone with the police, and repeat her exact conversation with Charlotte. (She’d had practise remembering Charlotte's phrasing--hadn’t Charlotte’s exact words been seared onto Robin’s brain the few times Charlotte had reached her in the office?)

After, though--alone in a private room at her own request--the memories of her other assaults were dredged up: the ritualistic rites of the hospital visits and the police interviews.

And the moments she’d thought she was going to die.

In her mind, all of her attackers surrounded her and penned her in, laughing and hungry-eyed and armed, Charlotte only the latest member of the club, startlingly small next to the men who’d punched or stabbed or raped her years ago. Raph held her arms, Laing and Charlotte a leg apiece, and the rapist...

Robin shook in her hospital gown, and texted Cormoran to ask if he could talk. Her phone buzzed instantly. 

"Thank you," she said the moment she picked up. 

"'sjust a phone call," he said, sounding like his offering was far too meager. The line was quiet for a few seconds, and then Strike said: "I'd do anything for you, y'know that, don't you, Robin?"

Tears sprang into Robin's eyes. "Well," she said. "The feeling's mutual."

Strike hummed a pleased and comforting hum at her reference to that strange, dangerous, wonderful evening.

Robin said: "Since you'll do anything for me, will you just stay on the call while I fall asleep?"

"Yeah, got the phone car charger as usual. I'll keep the line open until I get to your room in the morning…do they know to expect me?"

“Yeah. You’re my emergency contact anyway,” she said.

“Same. Thanks in advance.”

Robin laughed softly. “Good night, Cormoran.”

“Good night, Robin.”

Robin plugged in her phone (God bless Max) and turned it to speaker, and heard Strike's phone transition to speaker as well. She concentrated on the sounds coming through the phone--light London traffic and Strike's breathing--until she fell asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can you make a phone call from an ambulance? In the US or the UK? Whatever. (Edited to add: ChillyHollow's bro says you can in the non-urban US, so good to go! :D )


	2. Chapter 2

Robin woke to the warm sensation of her hand encased in Cormoran’s. She turned her head to see him, sitting down, head back, getting as much of a kip in as he could, and felt affection…

_No, Robin, give the thing its proper name._

She felt love strike her like lightning, happiness and gratitude so sharp as to be painful.

Almost as soon as she looked at him, he snorted and woke suddenly.

Robin looked into Cormoran’s eyes, and he didn’t smile exactly, but the corners of his mouth turned up just a little, and he said, “I’m here.”

Robin burst into tears without warning, and reached out for him with the hand he was not holding, as if in supplication. “H-h-hold m-m-me”, she stammered through her sobs.

Strike leaned over her, hampered by the bed’s side rails, and wrapped her up in his arms awkwardly.

Still crying, desperate for all the comfort she could get, Robin said, “Just g-get in the sodding bed, S-Strike!”

Strike hesitated for one moment, and then rose off of her and removed his shoes and climbed under the blanket, the false portion of his leg still in place. He gathered Robin against his chest, and Robin bawled for a long time, unapologetically soaking the front of Strike’s shirt with her tears.

Eventually Robin’s tears were almost spent, and she was left sniffling and whimpering.

Not removing her face from Strike’s shirt, she said: “I’m so sorry it was Charlotte, Cormoran, I didn’t want to hit her...no, that’s not true, I d-did want to hit h-her…” Robin found a few more sobs had to be released before she went on. “I’m so sorry,” she said again. “I feel so shit about it.”

“Stop, Robin. I know you and I know Charlotte, and I know this wouldn’t have happened if Charlotte hadn’t decided to hurt you. I’m just glad you were the winner. Not that there was any doubt of that, Miss Self-Defense.” She still did not remove her face from his chest, but could hear pride and humour in his voice in equal measure. “Shacklewell Ripper could barely put a dent in you, what chance did some mad socialite have?”

Robin felt like she was dying of thirst and Strike had handed her a full canteen. She didn’t want this to stop. She knew what had to happen, and wanted it so much that any nerves were vastly outweighed by her needs. She sat up and looked at Strike.

“Cormoran, when I’m discharged this morning, I want to stay with you. I’m not sure how long. Days? Weeks?”

Strike looked a bit alarmed at this, and Robin wouldn’t pretend to herself she didn’t know why; it simply didn’t matter right now. “But Max…”

“I don’t want to stay with Max. I want to stay with you.”

She knew her tone brooked no opposition, and Strike obviously did too, for he was nodding, his face serious.

“Yes, of course, Robin, all the time you need. Shall I come to your place or...”

“No, I want to be in your flat with you.”

Alarm crossed Strike’s face again, but he quickly smothered it, and said, “Whatever you need.”

“Thank you--Cormoran, you make me feel safe. I need to feel safe right now.”

Unreservedly fierce pride and protectiveness shone on Strike’s face. “Anything, everything I have to give is yours, Robin.”

_Don’t make promises you can’t keep, Strike._

But she was still completely unselfconscious as she wrapped her arms around Strike, and kissed his cheek, and released him and huddled against him again to receive the succor her body and mind needed and that his arms and smell and sound provided.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As is typical, I only have the vaguest notion of where this is going. Atypically, I'm not even really sure how long this is going to be. Let's find out, shall we?!


	3. Chapter 3

Robin slipped into the driver’s seat, and Strike the passenger’s in his BMW. The arrangement happened without any verbal agreement: they both knew Robin enjoyed driving, was the better driver, and might be able to avoid some of her worst demons by concentrating on the road. Robin began the drive to her place with Max.

Robin said: “We’ll take it in turns for the sleeping arrangements. One night, I’ll sleep in the bed, the next I’ll lie on the camp bed. I have a sleeping bag that should make it more comfortable for both of us. If your leg needs the bed or anything, just let me know.”

“All right,” said Strike, squirming a little at the thought of Robin in his bed, even if he wouldn’t be there. Then he lapsed into thoughtful silence for a minute before he spoke again. “I haven’t told Ilsa or anyone else about what happened. Have you?”

“No, nor Mum and Dad,” said Robin. “Maybe I’ll just send one email to all the concerned parties. I really don’t want to talk about it over and over again.”

Strike was examining his own feelings, pleased to be the person Robin went to with her troubles and her prime source of comfort, the keeper of her secrets. There was “best mate” and there was “ _best mate_ ”, and apparently he was the latter.

“Good idea,” said Strike. “Ilsa’s a nosy parker for this stuff anyway; she’ll drag it out of you if the phone conversation even starts, so best not to let it start at all.”

“Yes,” said Robin. “My thoughts exactly. My mum’ll be just as bad if I don’t outright tell her to sod off...or unless I make it clear how badly this...” She stopped. “Anyway.”

“Yeah,” said Strike. He wasn’t sure if mild gallows humor was the way forward, but decided to risk it. “Really decent of Charlotte to assault you on a Friday night, anyway. Got the whole weekend to recover.”

Robin laughed, and removed one hand from the wheel for just a moment to squeeze Strike’s shoulder. ( _Never knew my shoulder was an erogenous zone till just now...shut the fuck up, Strike, you lecherous arsehole!_ ) “I should send her a thank you card for being so thoughtful, really,” Robin said.

“Maybe some flowers?” said Strike. “I hear that women love them no matter the occasion.”

Robin laughed again; it felt so good to make her laugh always, but now in particular it was rewarding.

They were quiet until they reached Robin’s home.

“Max is here today,” said Robin as she engaged the handbrake. “He does know what happened, needed to get some clothes and such, but he doesn’t yet know that I’ll be staying with you. Give me a few minutes. I’ll talk to Max, freshen up, and pack. Hopefully less than 20 minutes.”

Strike pulled out his cigarettes and opened his door as Robin opened hers. “Take your time. Got my mates Benson and Hedges to keep me company.”

Robin went inside, and found Max sipping coffee at the table.

“Robin!” Max stood up to give her a hug. “So good to see you, I’m so sorry for what happened,” he said, releasing her.

“Thanks, Max. Hey, er, I need to tell you something--I’m going to be staying at Cormoran’s place for some time, not sure how long, just...during my recovery.”

Max arched an eyebrow. “I don’t want to be crude given what you’ve just been through, Robin, but are you hoping for a Florence Nightingale effect?”

“No!” said Robin, as though this were the furthest thing from her mind, and not an idea that peeked out now and again like the sun on a cloudy day. “I...I guess I just need some of that ‘no bullshit’ energy he’s so famous for,” she said, smiling.

“More like you need some of that dick energy, right?” said Max.

Robin blushed, and Max realized there was another interpretation to his words. He said: “Err, not like that. I mean...unless you want it to be like that.”

Robin did laugh at that.

Max said: “Seriously, take all the time you need, I’m glad he makes you feel better. I’d feel safer in that man’s home, too.”

Robin showered quickly, and packed some clothes and toiletries and went back to find Strike smoking and frowning as he looked at his phone. The lines on his face got even deeper when he saw Robin. “Cormoran, what is it?”

“I don’t think you’ll be needing to send that mail, Robin,” and he turned his phone around to show her the story in The Sun dated minutes earlier.

“Skirmish in Silk: Acclaimed Detective Robin Ellacott and Famous Blueblood Charlotte Campbell Exchange Insults and Punches in the Ladies’”

“Fuck,” said Robin.

“My thoughts exactly. Let’s get the hell out of here before some arsehole paparazzo shows up.”

“They’ll be at the agency,” said Robin, suddenly depressed.

“Yeah. We’ll wade through ‘em and lock ‘em out like we always do.” Robin still appeared dejected to Strike. “I could go rob a bank or something. Take the heat off you and put it on me: ‘One-Legged War Vet and Famous Curmudgeon Cormoran Strike Robs Bank Using Only a Scowl’.”

Robin was bolstered despite the transparent attempt at bolstering her spirits. “I don’t think that’ll be necessary.” She sighed. “Oh, sod it all. Let’s go.”

Robin and Strike got into the car and set off for the agency and Strike's flat.


	4. Chapter 4

“All right, give me the worst,” said Robin, as they pulled away from the kerb.

“It’s actually not as bad as you might presume,” said Strike, continuing to read the Sun article. “Says that their sources say you were both the wronged and victorious party, and that Charlotte will be arraigned as soon as she’s out of hospital…”

Strike’s phone buzzed, and then Robin’s did immediately after, and then Strike’s phone buzzed again.

Robin looked away from the road a moment to glance at Strike, and they shared a look of trepidation and understanding. There was no sound for a moment, and then both phones began to buzz and buzz and buzz with the onslaught of text messages.

“Oh shit,” said Strike. Robin’s phone rang, and he looked. “It’s Ilsa…”

“No,” said Robin. “Just silence mine, will you?”

“Yeah, I will,” said Strike, and he picked her phone up and stopped the noise on hers before doing the same to his. He looked and saw that Ilsa (and his half-brother and his uncle-cum-father and several other people) had texted him. He tapped Ilsa’s name and read the couple of texts she’d sent, not knowing whether he felt more like laughing or smashing his phone into a thousand pieces. “Ilsa thinks she’s so fucking hilarious…”

“Why, what’d she say?”

“She says to congratulate you on doing what she wishes she could have done and wants you to know that she’s workshopping names for the incident: ‘The Night Robin Slew the Dragon’, ‘The Night Charlotte Got Hers’, ‘Super Robin Mangles Supervillain’, ‘When Robby Met Charlie’, ‘The Rumble at the Restaurant’, ‘The Gourmet Grapple’, ‘Charlotte De-fanged’, ‘Revenge Is A Dish Best Served with Fists’, ‘The Night Robs Drove Old Bitchy Down’.”

The last one tickled Robin. “Ha!” Then she shook her head. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t…”

“Well, I guess I’m willing to concede that sometimes Ilsa IS pretty funny,” said Strike, putting his phone down, feeling pity and rage shoot through him as he looked at her wounded face. When he’d walked into Robin’s room that morning, he had seen a sleeping angel that had passed through hell, a bruise below her temple, a slash across one lip, her jaw lightly swollen on one side, worry evident on her face even in sleep. “I’m glad you can laugh. This is so fucked up, Robin.”

“Yes,” she said, decelerating at a traffic light.

“D’you think it was a coincidence Charlotte was there last night?”

Robin had certainly considered this. “I _think_ it was pure chance. I’m almost sure she didn’t look at me in the loo until I looked at her anyway, and she...seemed...to be shocked to see me. No guarantees, but I’d say it’s more likely than not it was just an accident and not planned by her.”

“Mmmmm,” said Strike. “Was she there with anyone?”

“Dunno. Does the story say?”

Strike scanned the article for a moment. “Ah, siblings. Amelia and Simon.” Strike did not mention the Sun’s completely accurate description of Robin as “statuesque and voluptuous”, nor did he mention that the Sun’s source cited “Cormoran Strike” as the topic of discussion in the loo before the melee had started.

“Wonder if it was planned some time ago?”

“I’ll ask her the next time we chat, shall I?” Strike asked drily.

“Oh yes, give her my best regards. While you’re at it, tell her there are no hard feelings and I hope she recovers quickly from the arse-kicking I gave her.” Strike laughed.

There was a pause as Robin took off at the green light. Then Strike said: “Are you sure you even want to go to my flat and deal with the press? We could go to a Travelodge…” This idea, though, had an air of danger as well. Would they share a room for Robin’s sake given the whole point was her recovery and her desire for his presence? That might be even more intimate. “Or maybe Nick and Ilsa’s?”

“No, the office and work will make me feel centered, and I like the energy in your flat.” No one spoke for a long stretch. Strike liked that Robin did not seem ashamed of her appreciation of his home. “This is different,” she said, “than the rest of them. This was a woman, and I partially volunteered to get into this fight, and I won, and that feels good, and I hope the bad part won’t last very long. I’m sure it won’t.” Another stretch of silence, Robin staring out the windscreen. “The most animal part of my brain, though...I just...need a little time. With my best mate.” She was making a right turn as she said it, so that they couldn’t look at one another.

“Y’know, Robin, I can’t exactly say I’m heartbroken to have to spend time with you if that’s what helps you to heal.”

Robin squeezed his shoulder again. “We’re here.” They were able to park a few streets away from their building, and started walking toward the throng of press, who ran at them quickly, all but penning them in as they walked.

“Robin, have you always been jealous of Miss Campbell?” _Yes, but the world doesn’t need to know that._

“Ms. Ellacott, will you be filing for a restraining order?” _Good idea._

“How long has the love triangle been going on, Robin? Was Strike shagging the two of you at the same time?” _Vulture._

“Got nothing to say,” said Strike to the slowly yielding mob. Then suddenly, startling Robin: “Oi! You!” Strike beckoned to a delivery man near the building’s door, set off some from the large crowd of reporters. “That’s for me! Hang on a minute.” Then to the press again: “Clear off, the lot of you!” Strike used his bulk a bit more forcefully to part the crowd, one hand gently adjusting Robin by the waist as he steered her through the horde of journalists, his other arm waving and scattering the reporters as a shark would scatter a school of fish. He made it to the door with Robin, quickly completed the interaction with the delivery man and walked into the building, slamming it shut behind them.

“This is yours,” said Strike, handing her the food. “Full English, hope it’s good, the reviews said it was. I’m pretty fuckin’ tired from last night, so I’m going to sleep, but make yourself at home if you want to come up.” He avoided her eyes just a bit. “I think you might already know, but I’m told I snore.”

Robin was caught between gratitude for the food (she’d only had a nibble that morning) and her heart turning into a puddle at his self-consciousness.

“Thank you so much,” she said with emphatic gratitude. “I think I’ll keep myself busy in the office for a while, maybe call my mum and talk to her about all this shit. Bugger,” she added as an afterthought.

Strike appeared to be relieved that her occupancy of his personal space would be delayed a few hours. He might sleep better now if she made herself scarce, thought Robin, and that was reason enough to let him be. Strike said: “You’re welcome, Robin. See you soon.”

They went up the stairs and separated on the landing, Robin squeezing Strike’s shoulder once more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to HarrogateBelmont for her thoughts and suggestions.


	5. Chapter 5

Robin sat in the office, and sated her stomach with food and her mind with work for an hour or so, as carefree as she could be under the circumstances. The reporter crowd had thinned considerably outside, the press knowing the agency’s reputation for stalwart silence; they had their bloody pictures from when she and Strike had walked in anyway. This wasn’t an ongoing saga like the Shacklewell fucking Ripper.

She finally resolved to call Linda. She’d want to hear from Robin, it wouldn’t be fair to go dark on communication.

Her mother answered on the first ring. “Robin, sweetheart, are you all right?”

“I’m okay, Mum,” she said. “A little shaken, but the injuries aren’t so bad as they could be, really coping all right. Cormoran’s been great,” she added, a little defiant, as she often was with her mother about Strike.

“Yes, I saw the two of you had repaired to the office,” her mother said archly. “I’m glad that he’s helping,” she added without any sarcasm or negativity.

“He really is.”

“Can you tell me about what happened?”

Robin described the events of the previous evening with a few omissions.

Her mother said, “Huh. All that money and it can’t buy any class. Or victory in battle, either.”

Robin was surprised at the swell of pride and affection in response to her mother’s last sentiment. She’d always felt close to her mum, but the relationship had felt a little strained these last few years, and this purely positive feeling was a joy and a relief. “Thanks, Mum.”

“So what now?”

“Well, once Charlotte is charged, I’ll apply for a…”

“That’s not what I mean. How are you? You said you were coping, what does that mean?”

“Well, I’m actually going to be staying with Strike for…”

“ _Staying_ with Strike?”

“Not like that, Mum,” and her exasperation surged as suddenly as her affection. “He just bloody makes me feel better! This is just like four fucking years ago when Matt and I almost split up before the wedding. Why are you always assuming even after all this time…?”

“I think you know why, Robin. I’m not stupid and neither are you.”

Robin opened her mouth to protest, to vent her spleen, to rain fire and brimstone, but she suddenly saw Strike’s slightly upturned mouth from that morning when he’d woken and seen her, and felt his hand at her waist guiding her past the crowd of reporters, and felt her stomach, full and content with the sustenance he’d provided. 

She looked to see if he had come downstairs, but he had not, so she let it out. “Mum, I love him.” She had never told anyone in so many words. She’d never said it aloud, even to herself. It was like she had loosed something lodged in her heart, and she was free now to feel the way she had wanted to for so long. Tears sprung out of her eyes and flew down her cheeks. “I love him so much. He cares about me, he means it, it’s not bullshit, there’s no ulterior motive with him. He’s so _smart_...he’s changed for me in ways I never asked him to...and if he...” Did she dare say it to her mother? Express this sentiment aloud, too, and crystallize it in reality? Yes, she damn well dared. “If he wants to shag me, I’m bloody well glad because I want to shag him.”

“That’s wonderful, Robin.”

“What?” She had prepared for her mother to express concern, contempt, and disdain.

“I’m glad you know what you want. I do feel a little sorry for you that it took you over four years to figure it out when I could have told you such a long time ago. But you weren’t ready to hear it until now, were you?”

She shook her head, both peeved and amazed at her mother’s insight. “No, Mum,” she said, and tears were cascading even more quickly now.

“So now what?”

“I don’t know. Am I willing to risk this job, our agency? When he’s been so cagey about the way he feels? We barely dare to talk about it--I have no idea if he sees me that way.”

“None?” said her mother. “You can’t have been paying attention to the looks he gave you at the wedding. I _saw_ the way you looked at each other, Robin. That man is desperate for you. Or was, anyway. He was rotting inside, watching you with Matthew.”

A flicker of hope dared to burst into existence. “He...the hug we shared...when I ran out on the dance…it was potent...”

“I’ll bet it bloody was,” said Linda. “The two of you both trying to drive a wedge between yourselves, bet it ached like hell to finally be together the way you wanted to...bloody idiots.”

“Even if that’s true, Mum, I dunno. There’s so much at stake.”

“I get it, Robin, and the choice is yours,” said Linda. “If I were you, though, I’d wonder if maybe the man you run to in times of pain and uncertainty is the man you should run to all the time.”

Robin sighed. “I’ll think about it, Mum.”

“At least don’t lie to yourself. Took you too long to get around that, don’t waste your own life denying things that won’t be denied. I love you, Robin, and I’m glad you beat the sodding hell out of that so-called high-society trash as well.”

“Okay...okay. Love you, Mum.”

“Love you too, sweetie.”

Robin rang off, and brooded at length.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Slow going with this one...still not sure how far in the distance the end is...


End file.
